Coadjutor
by Travelocity
Summary: Ultra Magnus was always by the books... even when it came to partying. With the exception of... you'll have to find out. Mech/Mech. Self service. Sticky, interfacing. Tasty.
1. Chapter 1

"Optimus Prime… I-I would be honored, sir," Ultra Magnus said, awestruck.

Optimus bowed his helm, a smiled drawn across his faceplate. "I will inaugurate you this evening, old friend." And with that, Optimus released his friend's shoulderpad, exiting to prepare for tonight's endeavors.

He could feel it. It was unusual to have such a… pleasurable feeling inside his spark. A tingling sensation of recognition. But Magnus was on edge, in all honesty. His most trusted leader had finally appointed a law abiding Cybertronian, the most loyal Autobot ever to walk this or any planet, to the second most desired position. And while he was pleased it was him… this would be the biggest responsibility appointed to him ever. However… he let his helm fall lightly as he turned to leave, folding his servos behind himself. His internals clenched lightly out of happiness, although none showed externally. Primus, the amount of reading he'd have to do on leadership… he could almost taste the workload now. Delightfully palatable.

Regardless, he'd tame his _excitable _state now so he would be able to preen for the ceremony the coming evening, decorating his armor with his medals and such. Primus knew he was proud of those.

Ultra stood in front of the mirror for quite a while, polishing his blue armor until he deemed himself presentable. Then again, he would grab the next cloth up with the heavier cleansers and clean again. His servos stroked across the regions he waxed and buffed, feeling the silky metal delicately with his black digits. After that he'd polish his digits and repeat the cycle. Obsessive? No, simply thorough.

After an hour of extreme cleaning he decided to lower the cloth to his desk. The lieutenant turned in his chair, venting as he brought his servo to his helm. The stress was setting in already; he could not falter now. He had just begun his quest, something that would put him in charge of almost as many field troops and training squadrons as Optimus Prime himself.

Ultra Magnus felt more honored than he could ever show to his leader. How could Optimus choose him? Well, hmmf how could he not? He was more loyal than anybot else, he followed every single rule. But Magnus still… he still respected him. Very much so.

Optimus did hand pick him after all and he watched over the training sessions himself. Now that pressure… that was difficult. Magnus was younger then, not by much but enough to see the difference. He was weaker, more subject to peer pressure hence the night cycle he was overcharged out of his processor.

The blue mech shook his helm as he cringed. _Awful disobedience_, he scolded himself. The new first lieutenant took the cloth in his servos, fumbling with it before folding it into a neat square. Perhaps it was more rectangular…

Venting once more, Ultra Magnus looked to the clock.

"Eighteen-hundred hours…" he muttered into the mirror, looking himself in the optics. The bright azure of his optics blurred the contours of his faceplate. He shook his helm slightly, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk. Many a time he was stopped on the streets of Iaacon by mechs wondering how 'such a lovely bot could be alone on a day like this' or a day like 'that.' Now, every single bot was intimidated by his presence. He became a government official, to what little government they had now. Some who strolled by replaced compliments with derogatory statements about his being a 'petty official.'

Ultra Magnus shut his optics, sitting back up to head for his shared washrack, but his neighbor wasn't in. He was probably helping Optimus Prime in the next building. Rodimus was a good kid. Meant well.

Flipping the dials to the precise temperatures, Ultra Magnus slid in, slicking his servos down his frame to rid himself of the shiny fragments of polishing agent he administered earlier. Pinching a piece in his servo, he analyzed it critically under the water. Maybe it had expired.

Minutes into the wash, the large mech was just about finished. Rodimus always pointed out that he was a quick cleaner. But he had time to spare before the ceremony. Lots of time in fact. Magnus peered out of his rack to gaze at the clock in the other room.

"Hmh…" he grunted. His thick, deep voice reverberated off the rack's walls, easily hearable under the rush of the water as Rodimus had always told him. So much time, so much to-… well, so little to do really. He lathered and repeated more than once. Now what was there to do?

Do it again.


	2. Chapter 2

Slowly, he placed more solvent in his palm before spreading it over his chassis again. He made sure to get his digittips into the finer cracks this time. Primus only knew what kind of coverage they would have on this, or how closely monitored his appearance was…

Carefully, very carefully, Ultra Magnus cleaned the grime from his frame. He worked cautiously, for he did not want to pull plating from where it wasn't supposed to be pulled from. The dirt melted away grain by grain under Magnus' watchful optic. Looking down at himself after several kliks of deep cleaning, his servos slid down to clean by his panel.

His palm grazed the delicate sensory preceptors on the metal around and on it. His intakes hitched harsh at the sudden stimulus.

"H…nnh…" he ex-vented out. His denta gritted as he pushed his servo back to his sensitive array; this had to be cleaned one way or another. As unpleasant as it was…

Slowly but surely, the blue and red mech pushed his servos south again to scrub between his pedes. He used more force to rub any debris off, letting his helm fall back a little as a soft moan fell from his lips.

His cheekplates flushed dark shamefully as his back pushed in, letting him look nowhere but the ceiling.

"F-foolish… foolish behavior," the Autobot lieutenant whined through clenched dentals. His strong servo pushed further between his pedes to his panel, still rubbing and 'cleaning' with strong will and determination.

As the scrubbing grew more desperate, so did he; his intakes grew heavy, the feelings returning to him of what it was like to be touched. What it's like to feel pleasure beyond what he felt when he was with Optimus or when he was left alone in his office to clean or read. It was physical. But he wouldn't finish, not in here. He was a picky mech, above all else. Unless a job needed to be done. But… this was his coding, his Cybertronian nature to need this elated sensation in his spark caused by the fifth sense, to need these provocative bouts of releasing his pent up stress.

Whether he wanted it or not, he needed this. It was coming.

Gently, his fingers found their way to his transformation seems, scraping in an attempt to manually open himself. It never worked the way it appeared intended, but it felt interestingly arousing nonetheless. The newly appointed SIC pushed again against his codpiece, letting the pressure add to his heightened state. Beads of lubricant culminated by his fingertips before trailing down his thighs. He traced spirals against his interface panel, crooning as it alleviated the pain throbbing behind it.

The back of his processor pinged every so often and not about the potent charge accumulating. He knew he was different. He followed every rule, real or make-believe since creation and never changed since. And for certain, he did touch himself differently than other mechs he heard of.

Not that he condoned eavesdropping…

_It was their fault for standing in close proximity._

He shook his helm to clear the excess thoughts. Magnus wanted to be able to focus on himself for once, oddly enough. If bots wanted to keep requesting he be "more relatable," this was fairly damn close.

As his panting grew heavier, his vocalizer heightened in pitch. Whines of desperation for overload oozed from his mouth in his baritone vocalizer, the throbbing, wave-like sensation behind his panel becoming painful again at the cease of the spiraling. It was time to do what needed to be done.

Ultra activated his coding, the code specifically pointed out to him by Ratchet to open his paneling. Damn medic, telling him to alleviate his stress… he'd do as he pleased.

"O-oh, hell…" he cursed under his breath, feeling his spike extend from its locked housing. His servo hesitated to wrap around it, but he pulled himself to do it.

Stroking evenly, perfectly in sync with his internal protocol, the lonesome mech applied more pressure. He felt his spike leaking against his servo and felt the need to look down. Primus, he was a mess.

Letting out soft, high moans, Magnus finally offlined his optics, letting his imagination dominate his core processing for once. This _once._

The throbbing sensations morphed into tingling static charges along his frame. His spinal strut stiffened, locking certain plates together as one. Gritting his denta, the red detailed mech pushed his aft instinctively out as leakage dribbled down his inner pedes. It felt insanely criminal to subject himself to… this. But the feeling, the sensation, … now he'd surrender for being able to savor those anytime.

Leaking profusely from his spike, Magnus nudged his forehelm against the wall, his finials jutting at the wall as he purred. Upon his intakes hitching another time, Ultra bit his lower lip, stroking himself to an unbearable hardness. His neglected valve was instinctively tightening on its own, reminding him of his solitude. After lavishly rubbing along over-sensitive ridges, his leaking became more apparent, more satisfyingly amaranthine. Paying close attention to his frame, he felt the pleasure escalating with his vocalizations: listening to himself in high and low registers, moaning and whining made him hot. Letting loose was a source of arousal. And his frame signaled him through a tightening of his ruffled plating that his charge and endurance were about to pay off.

He let his hips undulate on their own as he shivered, the savory feel of liquid sliding from his intimate area overwhelming him with pleasurable feedback. Thumbing the tip of his stiff member, the normally stern Autobot began crying out. An endless flow of lubricant coated his servo as he carefully fondled his erect spike; his index digit nudged dully at the slit as he arched. Words of abandon and desperation left his mouth at a faster pace than he would be able to bust a bot for misusing a semicolon.

Ultra felt his peak nearing even more so now than before. His exuberant equipment had long since been played with; his servos wouldn't even rest near them. And now, they were assaulting it.

Dark, heavier tones came from Magnus as his patience wore thin. It had been twenty five minutes since this adventure had begun and now, he had to finish himself. _Right _now.

"A-ahh y-yes!" he moaned, his engine purring as gears clanked and grinded inside of him. The pressure building at the base of his spike had been climbing since he started, but he felt it decipating when the static skittering over him sparked. Orgasm struck into his being; he shrieked. A hot stream of transfluid spurted from his spike against the shower wall. Tingles scorched into his circuits, his optics rolled back. Animalistic instincts ravaged his cabling down to his very protoform. His valve clenched in rapid succession, aching for something to be embedded in it. Magnus was left a writhing, bucking mess against his will.

His volume increased. His engine hummed as his spark pumped liquid hot Energon through his wiring; it was practically painful how long it had been since he last felt servos on his underused interfacing array, even his own at that. But never again, this was too… addictive. Too delectable and too desirable to slip away again. Too glorious a feeling it was to have such impassionate tingles in forbidden regions. He'd make time for this even if it meant shortening his daily rule enforcement schedule.

As the heightened state of overload had flushed out of his system, the spent Second in Command knelt down against the edge of the washrack. His sturdy pedes had given out from the quivering vibration of his overload. His optics remained shut as his aching servo left his limp spike. Ultra's servo held his weight against the wall instead.

"Primus…" he mewled, barely letting his words out without a rasp.

The ill-composed bot let his opposite servo rub against his dampened valve soothingly, getting his frame in condition to allow him to close without anymore disruptions or snags. Feeling the satin lining of his dripping valve, he massaged it carefully, letting relief pinprick his array. Unfamiliar digits slid in lightly, unable to resist the temptation of untouched territory. Evenly, wantonly, he let his jaw fall to make the lowest moa-

"You're going to be late, buddy! Get a move on!" Rodimus shouted from behind the locked door.

Flinching, his optics flung open. _Scrap._ _Out of time._

Withdrawing his digits reluctantly, Magnus stood, pushing against the wall. After rinsing thoroughly the last remaining seconds he had, the enforcer nearly slammed the faucets off. He gritted his denta. Hard.

Calling out from his room opposite Rodimus', Ultra responded, "Allow me to… compose myself before leaving."

Rodimus came bounding into his quarters eagerly. He was far more elated than Magnus was, that was certain. It almost roused jealousy from him. "But you had a long time already. You can't get any prettier without surgical assistance," the slinky red mech chimed as he ran back to where he entered from.

Ultra vented softly before heading out his own door. Heading south, he noticed Rodimus was turned towards him a little ways down the hall, obviously on his way back to their conjoined quarters.

"I almost forgot; Mags, Optimus wants you to meet him in the-"

Stepping closer, the blue mech towered over his 'friend.' "I am well aware of the location. Run along."

Nodding, the fiery red mech sprinted back down the corridor, vanishing behind the wall on the left.

_It's Ultra Magnus, __**sir.**_


	3. Chapter 3

The celebration was massive. Bots from the farthest of reaches of the galaxy had shown up in his honor. But in fact, Ultra Magnus felt the very same inside. His spark did not acknowledge him as a new being simply because a change of title. Ultra Magnus, duly appointed Second in Command of the Autobot cause. A long title at that. Certainly rolled off the glossa though…

Optimus was still nowhere to be seen; it left Magnus feeling tense. He only knew perhaps two out of every fifty bots. The odds of finding just one of them at the moment were slim as ever. So far into the evening, he met with one: one of Kup's underlings. He was a tall, lean mech with pointed shoulder pads, shimmering azure optics, a gorgeous smile, and a pert aft. Not bad to look at.

Oh Primus, if he was scouting the premises for _lookers _at this point he might as well imprison himself.

Hours passed and the partygoers remained. Ultra had a few, just a few shots of premium high grade with some of his old colleagues. It dawned on him that considering his position, they were now his comrades and he was now their commanding officer. What friendship they had was altered, morphed into something strictly work oriented. He was no longer going to stroll up and ask about their day, their family and friends, he would request that they file their preliminary reports before being relocated to foreign terrain for battle. To fight for their lives and show Decepticons where the truth lay. Things were not the same.

And that was enough to make him put down his drink and make a phony excuse to vacate his seat for the next sucker to show up and fall for life's cruel tricks.

Without even realizing _he _was the next sucker.

"Hey, Magnus, you enjoying yourself?"

Stiffening, he turned his helm, body following to greet Rodimus. Bowing his helm, Magnus responded as he folded his servos behind him, "I am quite fine, thank you. Did you eh… orchestrate this entire ordeal?"

"Sure did," he answered, giddily. He leaned in and whispered childishly, "Optimus helped."

"Optimus _Prime,_" he retorted respectfully.

Looking south, Rodimus' smile softened. "Yeah… well, Optimus wanted me to tell you that If uhm, you're not comfortable out here, there's a room in back." He gestured with his red servo to a room over his shoulder. "He's… he's back there. Optimus is. Optimus Prime! Him, yeah."

"Duly noted." Magnus watched the younger mech touch his elbow, curling his digits around his arm. The newly timid mech padded off far across the room through the crowd, Magnus' optics following him somewhat guiltily. He looked solemn now, the both of them. That is until Rodimus was snatched away by a rather broad, green mech.

Shaking himself from his daze, Magnus snorted lightly. Hmmf, that mech needed a rule-boost.

The heavily decorated officer made his way under the lights to the direction of his leader. It would be best not to spend his… celebration alone. Not that he was not sociable, he simply... preferred not to make a scene in front of his colleagues and new subordinates. It was no less of an honor when not treated with a party.

There was absolutely nothing to frolic over, to _enjoy…_

Warfare was the present. All that there was. All that there would be.

Battle was life now, to each and every mech and femme be they soldiers or baristas, medics or law enforcers. It was the tension they awoke to, the never ending thickness of gunfire and smoke overlaying the skies of a once beautiful civilization. One that held the most pristine cities and glistening libraries and golden cafes. Where the beautifully engraved seekers and 1st place racers lived peacefully amongst the governors and councilmechs. It was a glorious age, a fragment in time for the entire universe to experience, wiped out through corrosive gas warfare and biologically invasive viruses that ran amok. It was destroyed piece by piece through the Plateau and Crystal City, Iacon and Kaon, just everything. But it all ended with the caste system. Initially, it functioned with a reasonable set of rules, later to be manipulated by corrupt officials.

That is why he was where he was.

It infuriated Magnus to reminisce on his way down the hall. But at the same moment, it invigorated his being. He was spawned from the well to assist others in need and to do so with utmost care for all. Mm, it was no wonder Optimus Prime had servo-picked him from the bunch. Freshly enlisted mechs always had the most fight in them, but only Ultra had retained it all this time with the greater good in mind. The rusted door to the room wavered closer and closer to his frame. The lieutenant trembled with anticipation; his servo carefully stretched to the door. Hesitantly, the blue mech tapped in the basic code for the building.

.1.5.7.

Turning his helm back once, just once at a resounding laugh traveling down the hall, Ultra cautiously stepped his right pede into the room. The eerily tender sound faded as he shut the sliding door. More laughter came from before him; he could hear some of the distinct generals' voices, Optimus' came soon after.

It was a soft snicker, one that slid against his audials like a tenderly, smothering wave, dying down to a sweet end note. Sensual…

It felt warmer in this area of the building as well; the dim lights just beyond were from the scented cybercandles. Their lights flickered from orange to yellow to a warm, caramel brown. The slightly peeled wall decorum was thoroughly intact, obviously a more sacred room than the main one. And the flooring was only graced with insignificant cracks with-

The vocalizations swelled. As he approached the conversations, Ultra's interest peaked. He was immediately greeted upon entering. But before he could thank them for all their congratulatory remarks, he filled in his processor with the missing info on his surroundings. The candles were seen on separate stands in the vertices of the room and a circular table was just around the walkway's corner. Four mechs sat in each distinctly differing chair around the tabletop. Cards with older Cybertronian symbols laid sprawled in each bot's servos. Judging by Optimus' humble smile, they must have been playing _405_: Optimus' favorite game.

Shifting their chairs, they all smirked at the unaware Second in Command still soaking in the small wonders of the new setting. Optimus introduced his compatriots, although it took more than normal for Magnus to remember their designations. The highgrade was seeping into his core.

"Welcome, old friend. I've been awaiting your arrival," Optimus said as he stood. Ultra took his servo as a brief hello, although he didn't release it for quite some time. Magnus didn't notice or mind in the least.

"I… yes, my apologies, sir. I was uhm… relayed late information," he stated somewhat nervously. He nodded to the rest of the strangers for noble greetings, not used to addressing so many mechs at once. Everyone sat once again.

"Hey you, tall broad and stiff, take a seat. Relax," One of them barked, gnawing on a dulled cy-gar. He was an older model, obvious by the tell-tale strained metal of his faceplate and the corrosion around his seafoam green edges.

The one next to that bot shifted, second to most uncomfortable mech there. That was the only one that stood out due to his dated physique and unmodified frame. "You do seem quite… highstrung. Would you like to sit awhile? Feel free, by all means." The thick optic ridges were what actually had gotten him a firm place in Magnus' processor. Ring like a bell… no no, Rung, like a ladder. The _gifted_ _psychiatrist_ some believed he was.

At least, that is what Optimus had always called him.

The third mech was a high ranking war official from one of the first battles with Decepticon offenses. He took control of almost everyone as a whole unit in the ranks at one point when things ran devastatingly ragged. Impressive feat, however he was still a bit pompous about it.

Not a trait of a true leader. And that is why Optimus is the Autobot Commander.

The playful smile of his leader never left his view. Optimus Prime took his seat at the table, nudging one of the unregistered chairs towards his medal coated assisting commander. "Commander?" he prompted subtly. The Prime substituted further words for an inviting curve of his lips.

And Ultra would not defy orders.

Feeling Optimus' servo bring down the newly polished medal, the reward for service and escalation for the future… absolutely priceless. The moment was so intimate, such as though all others were not present, and this was just for Magnus' recognition. Only that.

Breaking the ceremony somewhat, Optimus leaned in and whispered a congratulatory comment on his leading the Wreckers. The statement's sentiment tingled inside the kneeling mech; he didn't always remember to take notice that _he _led the rabble-rousers. It's just… Ultra thought of himself more of a vague, unlabeled leader over his domain. But his _domain_ was in front of the Wrecker squadrons. Hearing it from the busy mech made Ultra feel… admired.

He was left in a stupor at the main podium; Optimus Prime stood straighter after the award was granted, gave another short speech, and watched curiously as Ultra Magnus looked to the floor as the orotund applause barreled throughout the room. Magnus stood at attention after a moment's hesitation.

After the newly appointed SIC was welcomed to the more specialized ranks, Optimus had invited Magnus to retreat once again to his newfound room of dare he say _fun. _The night passed with enjoyable banter over combat techniques, the occasional past relation to any femme or mech they could recall, memories of the Golden Age, and Optimus' upbringing. Rung had won thirteen rounds of Ransack, ten rounds of 405, and six hundred credits. He drained even the official of all energy. Rung was calm, cool, collected meanwhile the official was a condensation dripping mass of regret; out of the six hundred, five hundred and thirty five credits belonged to him.

Optimus was never big on betting or gambling, but the night's endeavors clearly took over his well being. Magnus had never seen him so joyous, giddy, and well retained all at once. He had his moments to be joking, but the Prime had considerably loosened up. And with that, Magnus had as well. Feeling more comfortable around the others, he too had exchanged stories of his sparklinghood. Although the others teased at his awkward stages, the SIC's commanding officer never sat up from the table he carefully had strewn his front portion over. His entire focus was on his subordinate. The gracefulness was still there too, along with his patience even in such an informal composition.

Patience was a virtue at this point in the night. All mechs were slurring, some more than others from the shots of highgrade they ingested as a '_tradition of appointance'_ as they called it. Magnus had never read anything about such a thing; the word did not even exist! Yet he found himself somewhat vulnerable to his peers' pressure for indulgences. But at least he maintained his notable ability to know when to cease.

"I… uh, thank you all for, … for the-" the only standing mech in the room swung his servo about by the table, "the festivities, but I really, r-really must be going now."

The names still fleeted him; all he remembered was still the ladder bot's. Said bot was skittishly situated on the edge of the table. He being the first to drink and the first to stop, had gotten quite sober throughout the night cycle. Of course _now_ it became apparent why he had won all the money: he was _that_ giftedly smart and intuitive indeed.

Inexplicably, a small hint of disappointment twitched about the silver, blue, and red bot. Magnus, in his inebriated state, did not even notice it. Optimus had come to enjoy this night more than most others in his life cycle so far. It was because of Ultra, his friend. And now, he was leaving.

"I… I will walk you out," he suggested. Magnus nodded several short moments, stumbling for a klik as he made his way to the exit.


End file.
